


what does this arrangement mean to us?

by actmademoiselle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Other, Religious Guilt, The Arrangement (Good Omens), falling, the very many meanings of falling, very beginnings of The Arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actmademoiselle/pseuds/actmademoiselle
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have The Arrangement. It is very useful. It is very practical. But what does it mean for and angel to go around tempting people and for a demon to be nice?---------------Aziraphale was Falling. How could you not, he mused, shaking Crowley’s hand, how could you not while looking into these eyes?And so he fell, the feeling of it sending his grace into chaos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in the Good Omens fandom! I love this show, and Aziraphale and Crowley are wonderful both individually and together. This is my take on how the both of them accepted what was happening between them. It's not the beginning of their partnership, it's not the end; it's the middle.

Aziraphale was falling. How could you not, he mused, shaking Crowley’s hand, how could you not while looking into these eyes?

And so he fell, the feeling of it sending his grace into chaos.

He wondered, after no physical manifestation of his Fall appeared, after no dismissal from Heaven came, after no angels appeared, whether She has missed that moment, in the same way in which She had missed the earlier instances when doubt entered his mind.

The moments in which he wished, faintly, a wish like a bell ringing in the distance, barely within hearing distance, that angels would still smite evil on Earth. He understood the covenant that was solidified by Messiah’s death, the covenant that meant the slate was clean, that Heaven would no longer make judgements on Earth and that all humanity’s choices were for them to be moderated until death.

But then there were moments when he saw examples of such cruelty his stomach clenched and the bell began its quiet swing.

Those moments, as against current policy as they were, were not visible on him, which was why he believed they haven’t been noticed. It is in this way he thought his Fall might have been missed; and yet the vile of it was in his throat when he was leaving a hut in Siberia. He pulled the lapels of his coat closer together, even though he had no real need for it, and cleaned his mind of the words he has just said, the promises he has made, the images he has spun in whispers. He couldn’t believe that an angel doing Hell’s temptation, an angel in an Agreement such as his, could go unseen. The damnation of it - and the success of it, for if Aziraphale did something, he would do it well - it stuck to his skin, like the premonition of a lightning coming. Surely, to be able to do such things, he must have Fallen already.

There was, of course, another way in which he could explain the lack of reaction from Heaven, but it was too dangerous to think that way. She might have missed it in the same way in which She had missed that he gave away his flaming sword, which is to say not missed at all but forgiven.

_We are the Fallen_ , a man in a black doublet said, raising his glass. All the men around Aziraphale raised theirs in return, and chanted the phrase back. _We are the Fallen._

 _We are the Fallen,_ Aziraphale rushed to say to keep his cover.

He was wondering if this was some elaborate way for Heaven to give him a warning. He was at this secret meeting to find a man he had to convince of his own worth. A brilliant man, who was going to start a wonderful organization to save lives of poorer people, a man that was meant to inspire crowds to follow him. That was the future Aziraphale needed to give a push too.

Currently, the man avoided any kind of public speaking, in fear that he would be judged for his personal preferences. Aziraphale heard a quiet bell at the back of his mind, and he turned it silent. He always grieved that humanity accrued such importance to the shape of their bodies. Just like Aziraphale, they were more than that; not exactly to the same extent as angels, for humans did not consciously exist before their bodies were created, but still to some extent they did surpass their earthly vessels. They were souls, and it was the shape of their souls that mattered rather than such minor issue like the shape of their bodies. To have so much shame and so many rules focused around the vessels in which they travelled between one place and another always threw Aziraphale into sadness.

But here he was, walking towards the man whose courage he had to inspire and shame he had to diminish by Gabriel's orders.

He wondered whether Sandalphon knew where he was.

_And then she tried to hug me,_ Crowley was spurting, his wine glass tilted towards the ground and the wine itself hugging the glass with enough force to stop itself from spilling all out.

Crowley has just come back from France, where he had to perform two miracles on top of his own work, because _they were just so small, you will barely notice them, and you are in the area anyway, Crowley_. He has decided that the extra work entitled him to demand the best of Aziraphale’s wine cabinet, which made Aziraphale ponder on how lucky he were that he had just decided to add new vintages to his cabinet earlier that day.

Crowley had been very unsettled that both mothers - for both miracles were centered around children - decided to be grateful to him and _thank him_ , on top of everything.

 _I didn’t even have to go and look for that second brat of yours, the first’s mother basically pulled me all the way to the other’s hut and said, oh this man is the best healer in the world, let him try to save your child._ Crowley vigorously raised his glass up and drank it - well, he tried at least, it took a moment for the wine to realize it was no longer going to drip on the carpet and let itself go. _I mean what if it was some other child, not one of the ones you were meant to save? It would just be a disappointment to all of us!_

Aziraphale was sipping his glass slowly, appearing to watch Crowley’s glass, his hand, his feet, and almost anything other than his face, which was what he was really looking at. There was a softness in the corners of Crolwey’s mouth when he mentioned the children, and a satisfaction in his voice when he berated the mothers’ gratitude, obvious even through the disapproving tone. There was this energy, which Crowley always had after performing Aziraphale’s miracles, which he blamed on the demonic instincts to go and wreak enough havoc to make up for _all the bloody good_ he has just done. But Aziraphale watched him talk about it, and he wondered whether through this Agreement it wasn’t him who was Falling, but Crowley who were Rising. Maybe that’s why She didn’t react in any way. Maybe it wasn’t Aziraphale who was at fault, but rather Aziraphale who, through his suffering of temptations, was allowing Crowley to experience what sharing goodness was. It was his gift.

 _But then I managed to plant the first mother’s nightgown in the second’s bed, and well, let me tell you, that village’s not going to be the same,_ Crowley smirked.

Or maybe not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds out he enjoys bickering with plants. A mission from Downstairs goes awry, and two someones maybe go ice skating. 
> 
> I was wondering about how The Arrangement came to be, and how hey agreed upon it. This is my version of what lead up to it, and *spoiler alert* Crowley will propose it next chapter.

Marshes do not enjoy being drained.

What’s more, it turned out they react quite violently to the idea which Crowley attempted to instill in them; that they were actually supposed to be a dry land; and have filled themselves with _more_ water in return, if such a thing were possible. Currently he were doing a Moses through them, a thing they were more agreeable to collaborate with him on. But the worst was already done. His pants, his shoes, his entire lower part was soaked, dripping, _cold_.

And yet he had to keep going. His horse, with whom he weren’t particularly pleased from the beginning, has declined to go into the marsh, and ran back as soon as Crowley went off him. He suspected trained horses weren’t supposed to do that, but well. It’s not like Crowley wouldn’t do the same if he could.

He could _swear_ the water level was _increasing_.

He spotted some smoke in the distance.

No.

No.

No no no no no no no no no no -

_Hastur!_

He groaned into the empty air. Some of the plants rising above the water moved with what looked like a _snicker_.

He glared at them and started to make his way back.

Hastur, it seems, has after all decided to take Crowley’s advice and go partake in the fun of temptation himself.

How a burned priest of the Church of Satan was going to be helpful to their cause, Crowley didn’t know, nor frankly, cared about. He cared about how _wet_ his _feet_ had gotten for _no apparent reason_.

The plants snickered again for good measure.

It was a week later and Crowley was back. He hasn’t heard from the Powers That Be since the incident so he has committed most of his time to his latest passion project, namely, how to exact revenge on plants. It turned out there was a lot of ways one could interact with them and Crowley found himself very interested in the more extreme forms of gardening.

Inspired by some of gardeners’ woes, he had found the perfect thing.

He was standing in front of the marsh and breathed in the awful smell. It made his mouth recoil and his mind sing. Oh, what wonderful times they had ahead of them.

The plants waved in recognition. They seemed suspicious of him, or maybe that was Crowley’s hope.

Slowly, he opened the bag he brought with him, and took out the only two items he cared to carry. Carrying them had the right dramatic effect. One first, then the second. Ice skates.

The plants fluttered in curiosity, and then stopped, because Crowley had turned all the water and damp into ice.

They glared at him in hate and he snickered while putting the skates on. _Oh_ , this was going to be _so good_ , he thought as he went on skating, and miracled himself some snacks.

It was perfect torture.

Except for the time when he noticed a hut in the distance, a hut which looked exactly like the one that burned down, standing in exactly the same place, behaving as if _nothing had happened._

That hut had been ashes.

He had checked.

He had.

Had he?

He had, hadn’t he?

_Shit._

He skated over with speed.

Crowley was entering the hut. From the outside, it was as wooden as if it has never seen fire, _definitely not_ less than eight days ago. It was not newly built either, even without accounting for the fact that humans aren’t that fast. It was - it just was. Was - did someone pull a prank on him? Has downstairs decided to try bad humor as a torture technique?

There was a grunt behind him, and when he turned around there was also a sword and a man. He looked distinctly like the satanic priest Crowley was meant to ferment. Footsteps outside.

_My dear, I did not know what color your blanket - kilt, apologies -—Crowley?_

It was the angel.

 _What in Heaven’s name are you doing here?_ Has Aziraphale been following him?

 _I’m helping out this young man - you wouldn’t believe -_ Has Aziraphale smiled upon seeing him?

 _He’s a satanic priest, what are you helping him for?_ Crowley spurted, to interrupt his own internal monologue.

 _Well,_ that was definitely a smile on the angel’s face, _I am happy to let you know, that he is no longer a satanic priest._

 _What?_ No no no no no no no no.

 _I was sent here to convince this man to abandon his position, and, you won’t believe it, as I arrived I saw the man’s house was on fire! He was already unconscious so I took the poor man away, and we’ve been putting his house back together since._ Someone had to save Crowley now. He couldn’t think. When he had been looking at people’s gardens, Aziraphale had been earnestly thwarting him, and succesfully, too!

 _Thissss isssss thwarting, Angel, we agreed there would be no thwarting!_ , Crowley said, and ended his phrase by pointing a finger at the angel’s face. He must have moved at some point because his finger landed squarely on the tip of said nose.

 _Thwarting? Are you here to tempt him?_ Aziraphale had that distinct look of disappointment mixed with righteous anger on him.

 _He is a priest of a Demonic church! I don’t have to tempt him! I was sent here to offer assistance! And you,_ Crowley twirled to face the man _, you are quick to change sides._

The man looked at Crowley with some of that righteous anger. It must be infectious.

_I prayed to you all as my house was on fire, but no demon came to save me. He did._

Ah. That must have been why downstairs told Crowley to hurry. They could have mentioned that the fire was already there, though.

 _Ah, well. Can’t do anything about it now. I think_ , he turned back to Aziraphale, who was now somehow standing by Crowley’s side instead of opposite him. _That if you don’t do anything more for him we can call this even._

 _Crowley!_ The angel yelled looking at the man out of the corner of his eye.

 _Whatever. There’s something more fun that I can show you outside_ , Crowley finished and left the hut. He hanged around outside, giving Aziraphale a moment to give his excuses, and as he expected, soon after the angel followed, looking around in a rush as if anxiousthat Crowley has left already.

Damn him, he smiled upon noticing Crowley again.


End file.
